Young Writers Society

"Well? You aren't going to invite me in?"

He was a man of flamboyance and delicate perfumes, incidentally, the same perfumes used in the brothels, framed by lamplight and his regal overcoat as he addressed Einar with smooth familiarity and a handsome grin. His dark hair was well-combed, he was always preened to near-perfection like one of the Queen's caged birds, and little smudges of powder rubbed into his cheeks - something Einar could never understand: he had such a pretty face. A little package was tucked under one arm.

"Soren, you smell like a whore," Einar sniffed, not meeting his gaze. He stole a glance over his shoulder to check on Kara, who was still gleefully preoccupied with poking the old machines on the table.

"Nice to see you too," Soren chuckled, "always quite the charmer, aren't you? And to think I'd bought you cake..."

Einar stayed silent. He knew that when it came to Soren, he had no choice. No-one had any choice when Soren came knocking. He knew everything about everyone, as was to be expected from any reputable information broker - but it was his skill for discovering even the most well-buried secrets, the ones he dragged up like bodies from the grave, that made him undesirable. The people respected him; he held their darkest secrets crushed underpaw. He was a lion among tundra beasts.

"Hey, Einar! Who's that?"

Einar cringed as Kara shouted. He gestured for her to be quiet with one harsh, exaggerated movement. She quieted, looking as if she was trying to stifle a laugh, her silence playful and teasing.

"Einar! You're with someone? A woman?" Soren made unflinching eye contact, his eyebrows drawing together as he calculated; the expression he used when dredging memories up from the muddied murks of his sick mind, "but you told me you were -"

"Quiet! You can come in, okay? Just... Be quiet."

Einar slammed the door behind Soren, calming himself with the rattling of the doorframe that drowned out his quiet, wry laugh.

"Just as chaotic as ever, I see..." he picked a trail between the cogs and springs and clothes.

Einar and Kara watched him make his way into the middle of the room that served as lounge, dining room, and kitchen and fix his eyes on the dragon. It stood dormant with its head hanging low and its tail resting on the floor. Soren tensed, the stringing-tight of his muscles noticeable even under layers of those ridiculous clothes, and reached out to touch the dragon's snout. He ran a hand over its face and turned back to looked at Einar.

"It's the real thing?"

"Yes."

"Can it really fly?"

"Yes."

Einar swiped a little clockwork machine from the floor and wound it up roughly as Soren caressed the dragon, watching it move and writhe in the palm of his hand. Whenever he became cranky he reached for delicate clockwork like a child seeking the comfort of their soiled blanket - and being with Soren made him especially cranky.

His arrogance, his pushiness, the way his hands dirtied the dragon as if it was his father who'd welded it together piece by piece. It wasn't only that - it was the way his body moved with its feline confidence and the teasing kindness he always showed Einar, always. It had been Soren who had dragged him half-conscious from the canal after he'd had his ribs kicked in, and Soren had been the one to patch him up again.

Einar stared at him until he turned around, perhaps feeling the ghosting of Einar's eyes over his broad back. Soren smiled and took his hands away from the dragon, turning his head towards Kara for the first time as if Einar's gaze was tearing at his ragged edges and he didn't like it.

"So, you're the princess?"

Kara nodded. "How do you know?"

"I'm an information broker. I know everything that goes on in Fjordheim, and a lot of things that don't."

"Oh. How did you know I was leaving the castle?"

"I didn't, until now. I didn't think Einar was the type of guy who'd kidnap a princess."

"He didn't. I wanted to come! Find out how all of you live, y'know?"

"It's not nice living here," Soren said, keeping his tone steady, "it really changes a person. The weak don't make it down here."

"Good thing I've got Einar, then. He knows what he's doing." Kara smiled, "I hope, at least."

Einar tutted and rolled his eyes. "It's not like I had a choice."

Soren chuckled and set the paper-wrapped package on the table. It bore the stamp of the best confectioners' in the city, the one Einar always craved but could never afford. Soren pushed the parcel towards him.

"I got it for you. A congratulations."

"... Thanks." Einar was always awkward and brief when it came to Soren's pushes at affection. It was something Einar could never understand the true motives behind - what useful information did he have that he was willing to surrender? He peeled back the paper and stuffed the iced pastry into his mouth, ignoring Soren's amusement and Kara's nose-wrinkle of disgust. It was delicious, the first real food he'd had in over a day and a half, and it settled in his stomach wonderfully.

"What now?" Soren asked, watching as Einar scarfed down the food.

"I need something," Einar said between feverish bites, "I need to find a friend of my father... You remember the Da Vinci Society?"

"Of course. I know where you can find them. One of them, at least." Soren's voice had become irritatingly sing-song. Einar's father had belonged to a group dedicated to rebuilding a flying machine - however, most of its members had been executed or had gone missing. They offered the best chance of any more scraps of information about the dragon, scraps Einar was ready to beg like a dog for.

"I know. How much? I haven't got much money on me at the moment... Actually, I don't think I have any -"

"Special price -"

"How much?"

"A ride on the dragon." Soren said, squirming with excitement like a child.

"A ride on the dragon? That's it?" Einar raised an eyebrow.

"Mm-hmm."

"Sure, sure." Einar made hurried hand-gestures, "now, where do I find the people?"

"Do you have a map of Fjordheim? It's a little obscure..."

"Yes, yes -"

"Can I come?" Kara asked.

"I don't -"

"I have the key," she dangled the key in front of them.

Einar growled. She was beginning to become such an inconvenience. "Whatever, brat."

"So, let's go!"